Mission Impossible?

Chapter 9

Amber woke slowly; her mouth felt like an aspirin bottle–dry and stuffed with cotton. She moaned, sat up, and pushed her hair out of her face. She wanted to retch. She moved to the edge of the bed, forced herself to stand and stumbled her way into the bathroom where she splashed cold water on her face to help her focus.

“What happened?” Amber wondered. “I only had half of a Gibson.” She looked in the mirror to see her hair messed, eyes bloodshot, and dressed in a white oxford shirt, its hem almost hitting her knees. She grasped the shirt’s collar and peered down into the shirt to find she only wore her panties underneath. “Oh…crap.”

Amber felt for the bathroom door and leaned out to look into the bedroom and examine its contents. It was stereotypical Miami hotel décor: white walls, floral bedspread, inexpensive furniture, non-offensive pastel artwork on the walls and white vertical shades over the sliding glass doors. Cautiously, she moved through the darkened bedroom and down the hallway of the strange apartment to a living room that matched the bedroom’s décor and was connected to a sterile kitchenette. She marched immediately to the front door and opened it. The hall was empty, except for a fire extinguisher standing guard at its post. She glanced at the door’s gold numbers…208. She closed the door, locked the bolt, and slid the chain into its groove. She bit her lip and thought.

Moving to the desk, she quickly went through the few items in the drawer and on top, then proceeded to check the other furniture in the room. As she searched, she tried to piece the night together. She went to the Latin club with Corazon and “Moustache” …and…they talked…danced? She couldn’t remember. Amber continued to examine the room’s contents; she didn’t know exactly what she was looking for, just something to help identify its occupant(s). After her search of the living room came up empty, she started toward the kitchenette and picked up a “Guns and Ammo” magazine on the counter. She shook it by the spine. Then she flipped the magazine over and sighed in relief after she saw the mailing label.

Amber tossed the magazine on the counter and walked back to the bedroom. Her search for her clothing was unsuccessful. However, she did locate her strappy high heels next to a nightstand. Pleased with that minor achievement, she realized she was brought here for a reason and wouldn't have to try to escape while wearing only an over-sized man's shirt, panties and high heels.

Proceeding to the bathroom, she pulled back the shower curtain and turned on the water. After testing the water temperature, she stepped under the spray of warm water. She turned her face directly to the showerhead. The gentle cascade splashed over her forehead, eyes, nose, cheeks, mouth and chin. It helped clear the cobwebs from her brain. Not finding her usual soap and shampoo, she wondered how hotels managed to find brands she had never heard of and would never see again–at least until her next visit.

As Amber slid the mini-bar of soap over her smooth back and over her budding breasts, she marveled at the sensations she was experiencing. Did real women find self-examination in the shower as pleasurable as she did? Pure, almost orgasmic bliss? Perhaps her increased sensitivity had something to do with the female hormones she was taking. Unfortunately, her self-delight was marred by the feel of pubic hair stubble under her arms and above her penis. Her mood was dampened further as she spread the lather over her long, lithe legs, where she could feel stubble on her calves and thighs as well.

Stepping out of the bathtub and onto the cold tile floor, she reached over to the sink for a man's razor and shaving cream. It would have to do. She was sure he wouldn’t have waxing kits or Nair in his apartment.

After shaking up the Gillette Foamy can, she spread the shaving cream over her lower legs, her thighs, all over her crotch and onto her armpits. With traces of foam on her fingers, she grasped her penis then cupped her balls for a moment. They were no longer as sore as they once were. She had grown accustomed on every night she performed to shove her testicles into a heretofore-unknown body cavity, pull back her penis and hold her private parts in tucked position with her gaff.

Amber decided to start with her legs. Sitting on the cold toilet seat, she slid the razor over her calves, then with even more care, her knees. She did not want to cut herself shaving. Washing off the foam from the razor in the sink, Amber managed to complete the calves and thighs within a few minutes.

Amber took great care on her sensitive armpit skin, but was extra careful as she approached the short hairs above her penis. She wondered if the owner of the razor would notice if it was suddenly in need of replacement. Pubic hair in between the multiple blades would be a dead giveaway that somebody had been messing with his Schick. Amber preferred the “bald beaver” look. Each stroke of the razor was applied with equal pressure. Careful caresses–no sudden jerks.

When Amber stepped under the shower again to wash away all traces of hair and shaving cream, she exulted in the super smooth feel of her skin. Her hands traveled up, down and across her smooth, lithe body. She couldn't help but wonder how much bigger of a stick Captain Logan had than little Arron. She longed for the touch of a strong male lover rather than this autoerotic stimulation.

Amber stepped back into her panties but took a clean shirt from one of the many in the closet, slipped it on, snatched her high heels up and walked to the living room. She left her shoes on the counter, checked the refrigerator for something edible and found only a bottle of orange juice, ketchup, and half-full tub of Maxwell House coffee. She smiled and said, “I bet he drinks it black too.” While the coffee brewed, she slipped on her heels and flipped through the magazine on the counter.

She finished pouring herself a cup of coffee when the lock on the door turned and the door began to open, but the chain caught the door and stopped it. Captain Logan hit the door and grunted. “What the…Kain? Amber? You there? It’s me, Logan. Open up.”

With coffee in her hand, the boy-girl walked over to the door, undid the chain and let the CID agent in. He thanked her and shut the door behind him. It was immediately apparent to Amber where the Captain had been. Captain Logan was soaked in sweat and wore an armless black t-shirt and black running shorts, with ARMY in gold lettering on both, along with well-worn running shoes. He walked over to the kitchenette, knelt and removed his ankle wallet, then laid his keys, cell phone, and wallet on the counter.

“How do you feel?” he asked Amber.

“Okay, weak and a bit queasy.” Without cream or sugar, her coffee tasted bitter. “I didn’t realize I drank so much last night,” she said sheepishly.

“You didn’t,” Logan stated flatly. He went to the nearly empty refrigerator, took out the bottle of orange juice and drank deeply. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, “You were drugged.” He took another drink. “They gave you Rohypnol.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s the actual name for Roofies…Rope…Mexican Valium.” He deduced by Amber’s blank stare she didn’t recognize any of the terms and stated, “A date rape drug.”

“Oh crap.” She bit her lower lip, folded her arms under her chest and looked down at the off-white carpet. “Uh, did I…or I mean…was I uh…”

“Not that we know. You remember going into the club?” he asked and waited until she nodded before he continued. “Do you remember leaving the club?”

“Not really…I remember some bright lights and a car.” Amber shook her head, climbed onto one of the bar stools along the counter and looked into her coffee.

“One of the effects of Rohypnol is that it causes memory loss.”

Amber nodded in agreement.

The CID agent took another drink of juice and sat the half-empty bottle down. He leaned on the counter with one elbow. “I was in the parking lot. When I saw you get in the cab and leave, I followed you thinking something was wrong. Once away from the club, I stopped the cab and took you out.” He reached over and snapped a striped dishtowel from the rack on the stove. Then he wiped the sweat from his face. “After that, I brought you back here. I didn’t want you to go back to your apartment. It may not have been safe.”

“I guess I passed out, huh?” she asked.

He nodded, “Yup.” He opened the refrigerator and placed the juice container on the top shelf. “Dead to the world.”

She tugged on the collar of the shirt she wore. “Did you…”

“Oh, yeah. You vomited several times as we drove here.” He walked from the kitchenette. “I cleaned you up and put you in my bed last night. Sorry, but your clothes were ruined.” His voice trailed down the hall. “I put them in a bag and threw them down the garbage chute.”

Amber poured herself a second cup of coffee and tried to remember the previous night, then she slipped off the bar stool and went to the bedroom. She stopped at the open bedroom door, when she heard water running and realized Captain Logan was not in the bedroom but in the bathroom taking a shower. She entered the bedroom and leaned against the wall next to the bathroom’s open door.

“I’m sorry I was so much trouble.” She apologized to him over the noise of the running water.

“It’s fine,” he said loudly. “I’m glad you were alright. I was worried for awhile but you just slept it off.”

“Slept it off? How long did I sleep?” she asked.

“There’s a clock over on the nightstand.”

Amber walked around the bed and picked up the small travel sized clock. The red digital numbers read 7:37 PM. She thought for a moment then asked, “What time did we get here?”

“We got here about 2:45 this morning.”

She turned at the sound of his voice to find him standing in the bathroom door with a towel wrapped around his waist and tied at the side. She coughed and pushed her hair behind one ear and stepped to the bedroom door, where she turned and leaned against the door’s frame. The CID agent had walked over to the closet and was searching the top shelf in the closet. Her eyes traveled up his strong legs to his slim waist and then she caught herself lingering on his muscular back and arms. She watched the agent as he examined several small boxes on the closet shelf before taking one. Stepping over to the closet, he picked up a black plastic case and laid the items on the dresser.

Captain Logan was about to ask her to come over next to him but stopped as he glanced at her. She stood silhouetted in the hallway light. She was poised with her right hand on the door frame above her head, the other on her hip; one knee bent forward. Her slim but girlish form was outlined against the opaque material of his shirt. Her long hair, full of ringlets, fell in dark waves across her shoulders and down the front of his shirt, seductively covering what the shirt failed to. She was no longer the boy he first met at the hotel.

He cleared his throat. “These are yours,” he said and motioned her over to the items he earlier laid on the dresser. He opened the small case to reveal a small, flat black pistol. He picked up the hand gun, released the magazine and checked to see if it was empty, then pushed it back into the grip. He pushed back the slide to verify no round was in the chamber. Satisfied the weapon was empty, he handed the sleek pistol to Amber.

“This is a Sig Sauer P232. It is a .380ACP with a double action/single action trigger; 10 lb/4.4 lb pull respectively. It holds 7 rounds in the magazine and one in the chamber. The slide is Nitron coated and it has a black hard anodized frame. The hand grips are polymer plastic.” The CID agent continued his lesson. “It is ergonomically designed. All of its edges are rounded and is snag free for a smooth pull. This weapon is designed for concealment.”

Amber held the pistol towards the floor in her right hand, her index finger along the slide and away from the trigger. The grip was smooth and fitted her hand well. She looked through the weapon’s sights and noted they glowed florescent in the low light. With her left hand she pushed back on the slide and then guided the slide forward to its normal position. She thumbed the decocking lever. Next, she pushed the magazine release on the heel and it popped out. There were holes in the magazine which told the user how many rounds were in the weapon. Mimicking the Captain’s earlier procedure, she slid the magazine back in the weapon, and opened the weapon’s chamber. She handed it back to the pleased Captain.

“Good. No, keep it.” He pushed the weapon back into her hand. “Let me see your stance.”

Amber stood with feet planted shoulder width apart, holding the pistol in her right hand, right elbow slightly bent; her left hand supported the pistol underneath the weapon’s heel. With both eyes open, she looked down the sights into the bathroom.

“Amber, I know you were trained that way but for now do not stand like that. Remember, you will not be wearing body armor. Stand at a profile, left leg forward, right arm extended, left hand supporting, left elbow down more.” He slipped behind her and guided her into position.

Amber’s skin burned as he touched her arms and hands. One of his hands pressed against her thigh, moving it into the correct position; the other touched her lightly on the hip and sent waves through her body. She fought to maintain her breathing…slow and steady but her heart betrayed her and thumped so loud she was sure he could hear it. She concentrated on her sight picture, but blinked in frustration.

“Should I come back?” Major Brewer asked her arms folded across her chest.

Captain Logan let go of Amber immediately. “Janice, we were going over the P232,” he stated, and then coughed as he comprehended the situation.

“Uh huh,” the Major said with a perfectly tweezed raised eyebrow. “Amber, how are you? Are you alright?” She hugged the small girl-boy tightly, careful not to let the Sig Sauer poke her in the ribs. “I went into the club behind you but was unable to follow you upstairs. You ran out so quickly, I couldn’t get to you in time.”

“I don’t remember much. Just lights and a car.”

“That’s fine. The important thing is you’re okay. Let’s go in the living room and let Logan get dressed.” She led Amber out the door and gave the Captain a “we’ll talk later” stare.

While Captain Logan dressed, Major Brewer escorted Amber across the complex’s parking lot to their shared apartment, where the two women changed clothes. The convenience of a team staying in the same apartment complex was obvious but the practice was unusual and not done in most covert operations. Since this was a stateside operation and the unlikely event of being discovered was minimal, convenience outweighed any risk.

Since the night was hot, Amber chose a mono strap pink top, white boy shorts, and to show off her French manicured toenails, a pair of cork wedge sandals with multi-colored t-straps. Thanks to multiple U.S. government financed make-over and cosmetology lessons, Amber applied her makeup with a skilled artist's touch. She slipped leaf shaped gold earrings on and a placed a matching bracelet on her left arm. She sprayed the air with perfume then stepped forward to let the mist drift down on her. Thinking twice, she dabbed the eau de cologne behind each her of knees. One last inspection in the full-length door mirror met her approval before she walked out in the hallway. She was half way to the living room, when she rushed back into her bedroom and grabbed the borrowed shirt off the bed, then retraced her steps down the hallway.

Janice came out of her room also dressed for the warm southern night. She wore an off the shoulder white peasant blouse with eyelets, a multi-colored flared mini skirt, which showed off her long tanned legs and platform wedge sandals with brown leather cross straps. Her long blonde hair was pulled into a neat ponytail while her makeup was perfect as usual. She stepped over to the counter to pick up a pair of small hoop earrings, which she inserted into her lobes.

“What a pretty skirt,” Amber said to her mentor.

“Well, thank you. Macy’s was having a sale and I couldn’t resist. Are you ready to go?”

“Yes, let me get my purse…oh…I don’t, I mean, I left it at the club last…” Amber’s voice trailed off.

“Don’t you have another?”

“No.”

The older woman smiled and said, “We can go shopping tomorrow. A girl has to have more than one purse.”

Amber raised her eyebrows as if to ask “why.”

“A girl needs to accessorize. Co-ordinate your outfits with handbags, shoes and jewelry.”

“Aaron only needed one wallet.”

Janice nodded. “How many shoes do you have? One pair? You should have at least half as many purses as shoes. They are a necessity.”

“How many do purses do you have?”

“Mmm….mmm…about 25 or 30, I think…”

Amber looked a bit shocked at the number. Over the last 6 months, she had acquired several new pairs of shoes, but she still used the same purse–a little black leather hobo style she picked up in the mall one day.

The tall blonde opened the door and led the way down the hall hoping to find their teammate at their rented car. The government no longer used the “black sedans” made famous by Hollywood. Budgets were carefully watched, renting a midsize Ford Fusion was much more economic than having an entire fleet of vehicles to maintain. The two women scanned the parking lot for their team member or their car, when a white Cadillac Escalade with tinted windows pulled up beside them. The driver's side window lowered slowly to reveal a grinning Captain Logan in dark sunglasses.

“Ready to go?” he asked, his right wrist lay casually over the leather encased steering wheel.

Once the women were in the large SUV, Logan raised his window and smoothly accelerated away from the apartment complex. For the next several miles, the Major interrogated the CID agent about the new vehicle and why it was necessary. His only defense was to say it was necessary. Hearing this did not satisfy the Major. Logan tactfully shifted the topic to where to go for dinner. Everyone offered an opinion about the local cuisine and what would be best. However, the trio mutually agreed on Mexican, when the Captain said the magic words, “I will buy the Margaritas!”

Dinner was enjoyable but went far too quickly. After the dishes were cleared away by a busboy and each had a full frozen Margarita in front of them, Amber brought up Corazon. “What should we do about Angel?”

“We will do nothing,” Major Brewer said. “It is his move. I am sure he will contact you again.”

“He’ll be back,” the Captain agreed. “Amber, just make sure you are careful about what you drink or eat around him from now on. We didn’t realize using ‘Rope’ was part of his MO.”

“Yes, you must be careful from now on. We knew he was dangerous but not a rapist,” Janice said. “Logan and I agreed this afternoon, you should carry a weapon. That is why he gave you the SIG. Starting tomorrow, you will need to carry it on you whenever you go out.”

“Alright,” Amber nodded.

“There was an unexpected windfall to what happened last night. You knew we tracked you to the club with the GPS on your cell phone but when Corazon took your cell, we were able to track him. We ran a triangulation on your cell phone’s signal this afternoon and now we know his location,” Logan said grinning. “The DEA will put a surveillance team on him tomorrow.”

“Is that smart? What if he finds out that he is being watched?” Amber wondered out loud.

“I would be surprised if he didn’t find out. The Cartel has its own sources,” Logan admitted.

“There is no need to worry about that for now,” Janice said. “I have other news. Tomorrow you start rehearsing your new act for next Saturday. The Peacock’s owner reminded me last night Amber is contracted to provide new material on a timely basis.”

The performer perked up at the thought of the new act. “Oh cool! Do you know what Tad has picked out? Don’t let him give me any of that lame stuff the other girls do…please…how many times do we have to see Lady Gaga? And no boas…I am not gonna have feathers all over the stage.”

The attractive Army officer raised an eyebrow, “You are not ‘gonna’ have what? You…” she pointed a perfectly manicured finger at her protégé, “will do exactly what you’re told to do. I also prefer for you to use proper English.” Then she smiled and said, “I think you might have fun with the next act.”

Amber leaned forward, “Tell me, what’s it going to be?”

“You will find out tomorrow afternoon.” Major Brewer smiled as she stood up. “You will have to excuse me for a few minutes. Will you settle up with the waitress?” She touched Logan on the shoulder and walked toward the restrooms.

Amber took a long drink of her frozen Margarita, while Logan waved at the waitress, who nodded and came over with their check. He paid the bill and collected the receipt. While he led Amber out toward the door, she daydreamed about being the tall, handsome Captain’s date. The pair stopped outside the restaurant and waited for Major Brewer to join them.

As the surrounding palm trees swayed in a warm Miami night breeze, Amber wondered if Captain Logan ever really relaxed. “Why are you wearing your shirt tucked in on such a hot night?”

Logan simply looked at her with a grin and shrugged his broad shoulders. The petite girl-boy stepped up to him, gripped the sides of his shirt and pulled it up out of his pants. Once the edge of his light blue polo was freed, she smoothed it down over his khaki shorts with her hands. She stepped back to admire her work.

“That’s much better. You looked like an old man. Next thing you know, you will be wearing your pants up around your armpits.” She laughed as she thought of Steve Urkel in Family Matters.

“I am not that bad, am I?”

Amber tilted her head with a mischievous smile at the agent who grinned in return, when Janice stepped out the door. The warm breeze caught her unprepared and her skirt flew up, showing much more of her lovely legs than she intended. Instinctively she threw her arms across her wild skirt in order to tame it. Laughing, the trio headed for the SUV.